So You Know I Really Am Drunk If...

If I start to drink wine. And If I push Chris through his screen door.

I don't drink wine.

Attention World...

By the time you read this...
I will be drunk. Please don't hate me.
I hope that, maybe, someday...you'll understand.

I Love You, Always.

Well I could have been a famous singer...


Hey little kitties. I got some bad news. I know you think, "Oh Kevynn, so your poo didn't flush down the toilet at work today. They won't know it's you. Blame the fat guy." But that's not the kind of bad news I got for you. I never talked about it before beeeecause I always thought monkeys would fix it somehow, or at least be trained to help me out when my sight failed me. Yeeeeah. I've been legally blind in one eye since I was 19, but it was always ok because I still had the other one! Ha ha life! Thanks for giving me two of everything, SUCKER! But I guess life heard me make fun of it and didn't like that I threw sand in its face at the playground. Baby. What a bunch of garbage it is that my other eye is going now, too. I used to sand down braile signs, and now I'm going to want to kick the little brats asses who do it. Honest, little chickens. That could have been chitlins, or chaplin, or LYSOL because it's so fucking hard for me to see. Seeeeeew. I want to keep PAINTING and reading SPIDEY comix and writing but it will eventually all turn into lysol or hubcaps when I really want to be telling you about how I think William Shatner is a big fat dump. Lysol and William Shatner are different. Believe it. So I think maybe I gets one of them micafones/programs that type what you say into the microphone? GAY. I don't know, friends. Your hero is failing, and at lightning speed. I'd say tune in next time, same milky time, same milky channel, but this episode is TO BE CONTINUED. Until I get some monkey eyes or super monkeys. Or cokebottle glasses. Or...DUN DUN DUN. To be continued...













Suckers. And the BEST part is, it's not even Kevynn the master of mischief who tricked you! It is I, Melly Mel! Ohhh man. You guys were just so TOTALLY DUPED! Psych! No one is blind! GAWD! Anyway...

The Kevvy asked me if I wanted to guest post and, hello, of course. Totally. I didn't want to be a super sappy baby and be all "Kevynn is the best ever. He is owed 3 monkeys. UNO!" Even though all of that is almost true. You decide.

Honestly though, I'm going to have to give some major props, luv, and XOXOs to Mr. Kevynn Malone. He is a favorite of mine, and I don't even do favorites. He's so goddamn nice, I don't know how anyone could ever have anything against him, ever. He's a darling friend, well rounded, generous and kind. You can't go wrong, honestly. He's full of 100% authentic awesome, and he shares us with it (almost) every day. From Christmas cards gone awry to playing with kids in parks and being cold shouldered for trying to help the tubby lady with her car, it's never dull. I know he feels like it sometimes, but truly it's all part of the Malone greatness. Whatever that means. But ok, honest. Kev, you're terriff, keep writing with your one good eye..haha kidding.. you're seriously top notch, kid.


XOXO,
Melly

"so I'm drinking, breathing, writing, singing
everyday I'm on the clock
my mind races with all my longings
but can't keep up with what I got..."

Reed Richards...

What the hell is going on? I was running around today, everything felt off. Or, at least off-er than it's often off-ness. My god, I feel bloated. I barely ate. Why do I feel like this? Must be my period again. I'm glad that today's whole shindig is over and that I can relax and do nothing. Fucking A. I read my new Spider Man comic book. It took me a whopping two minutes. It's funny that I'll look forward to something that takes a shorter time to finish than...you fill in the blank. Fuck the T.V. Fuck my new Orson Scott Card book. Fuck the two movies that I just rented from the library. What the hell were they? Oh. The Thin Red Line. I remember hating that in the theaters and being bored with it, so why am I renting it? You tell me, sugar. What was the other one...am I going to have to walk over to it now? God(s) damnit. It's my own fault. I mentioned it...okay, hold on..whoa! I think that I just saw a tracer come off of my finger. That was crazy. I'm freaking out. I need to clear my head. I'm seeing crap. Get up, Kevynn...,.,.,.,lkl;kl;jgbhcjkhjvuufih

Damn, how could I forget? The Big Lebowski, you bastards. Or bastrads. Or bastiches. I want to take a bath. That would be nice. But it's uncomfortable. I remember when my toes would barely touch the edge of the tub. Now it looks like somebody threw a green bean in a Sucrets tin. Too much lankiness to fit.

Lick it. Goodbye. I hate Sucrets. No spell check. No Five dollar boom boom.

Hulk Smash!...

Don't get me angry. Don't erase my post about the fat lady with the flat tire, and how I tried to help her and be a gentleman, and all that I got was a hint of acknowledgement and another reason to hate cell phones. How Hulk was ready to help the puny human. How hulk was ready to help her change her tire or push it into a parking place instead of in the middle of the street. But the fat lady was too wrapped up in complaining to whoever she was yelling at on the phone. I hope it wasn't her husband. It was probably Domino's Pizzza. Hulk took the time, unlike other people - to see if he could help. Hulk will never change his behaivior, but Hulk's disdain for all of humanity increase by each day. Hulk has always helped people. Hulk wants to super kick fat lady in the crotch. Hulk lost his post.

Hulk is getting sleepy...

What It All Boils Down To Is...Who Cares?

Okay, so while I'm here and trying to remember how to write a bibliography...
Who's gonna win on the American Idol thing?

The fat, black man or the skinny, white kid?

Kettle...

First time I smoked pot, my older brother and his friends just stood around and laughed at me. We were all standing around in the middle of his friends street doing nothing anyway. I was whatever age that you are when you're in seventh grade. I liked to ditch school a lot. Or my brother and his friends would kidnap me and we'd stay at one of their parents houses. I used to drink a bunch of horrible liquor with them too. Maybe that's why I only like beer now. I sometimes start to giggle or talk nonsense. I'm fun for about twenty minutes and then I pass out. I can't drive stoned, just can't do it. My friends can operate heavy machinery, make dogs jump through hoops, talk to the president. I start to drool or call you a lesbian. I once dated a girl who made me drink Jack Daniels with her everytime I got beer. She was tough shit and hot as hell, so I drank whatever she wanted me too. I've ingested it all. I've gone through so many different alcohols, It's sick.

Stick a cucumber in me and I shit out a pickle.

The New Amazing Spiderman's Coming Out Tomorrow, Habeeb!...

Terrorists should just stay at home and read comic books instead.

I...

I don't skateboard around town anymore. I limp to my dirty car. I have to remind myself to look up. I feel tired. I'm not as adventurous as before. My band is dead. Two cats are also. I talk to homeless men more than I do my sister. Did that sound incestuous or did that sound like I like to have sex with homeless men? I still pretend to listen to people. I want a letter in the mail. A real life letter, written on lined, college ruled notebook paper. I'm sick of all of my music, and all of the choices I make at the store suck ass. I'm glad that I started to read comic books again. I rarely go to the movies. I hate living on the first floor. I still drink and smoke, but still don't do drugs. I haven't had a black eye in three years. That's good. I have ten rolls of film that need developing. I still need a new job. I am lazier. I write less. All of the thousands of pages of stuff I've written are now in the garage and seem less important as time goes by. The Beastie Boys are old. I am not excited about the next Star Wars movie. I wish Bukowski would write a new novel. Oops, he's dead. When I make lists of things to do for the day, half of it is phone call bill bullshit. I still try not to kill ants. I still look exactly like I did five years ago. I never buy new shoes, although I think about it all of the time. Master Of Puppets is a great album. I want to own a house. I pulled a bad ass car move when I was going to the store tonight, but it would be too confusing to explain - but trust me...it was damn cool. Blah, Michael Knight. I still have no appetite. I am learning how to make some pretty fucked up drinks. Where I am, right now would've been perfect when I was twenty-one. I don't write poetry anymore. I am happy, just tired. I still have mistletoe hanging above the front doorway. I think I'll keep it there for another seven months. I may have jinxed myself about something important last night. Knock on wood for me right now, please. Screw the people around you...tell them you're practicing jokes.

I'm not whining - I'm just trying to write more like I used to and to not think that somebody else is reading this. The ha ha's should only come when the ha ha clause delivers the ha ha. You must be good to have Ha Ha Clause visit you. Otherwise, you get a lump of thermo nuclear detonator. I have a report I should be writing, but won't tonight. I can't concentrate. Frozen orange juice has no problem with this. That's why all of the best writers are found in the freezer section of your local grocery. No matter how much time passes, The Pixies still sound cool. I think that the opposite sex still finds me attractive even though I have girlfriend glazed over my eyes. I may be wrong. Maybe they only want a cigarette, or want diet secrets from me. Maybe they want to ask me if my father really did work for a secret, ultra cool branch of the government. Maybe they want to ask me why I don't look either Vietnamese or Irish. Maybe they want to ask me what they should look out for next time they're at the swapmeet, do I want anything besides comic books and skull rings?

Columbus was a fag. So is Strom Thurmond. I wish that Barbara Streisand, post-U-Turn-J-Lo, Celine Dion, Bette Midler, and every girl that cries on a reality show gets pummeled in the crotch by meteorites. Human beings need to get the hell off of this planet permanently. We're giving Earth indigestion. I need to get on the ball with the screenplays and the clothing company research. Joe, Dawne, and I need to be rich. Then I can hire Colobus monkeys to type my thoughts. I hate Columbus, but love the Colobus. I need to remember to ask Cheeks what the weather is like in London. In the 60's and partially cloudy? I can feel the beginning of summer. I hate the summer. I need to buy an ironing board. I can't iron worth a fig anyway, but doing it on the kitchen table is really destroying the miniscule abilities that I do have at it. Chewbacca looks lonesome standing there in the corner, he must've deactivated Threepio because his eyes aren't lit up. I wish that people could carry around Samurai swords. But then we'd have Cingular Swords, and Sony Swords, Ford Swords would suck and would cost more to make in America, the majority of swords would be made in Mexico or in Communist China by political prisoners. There would be designer swords. Donatella Versace would continue her brother's legacy...D&G Swords. Hot Topic swords. McSwords. Would you like to super size that for 65 cents more?

Anybody who reads this must leave a comment in the comment section. I know that you don’t have the time, you may be at work, this may interrupt your porn surfing. But, I'm telling you - EVERYBODY MUST DO THIS OR I WILL STOP PAYING YOUR MOM'S BILLS. It's nice to know that the plants appreciate your singing sometimes. It's nice to collect rent off of, even, Baltic Avenue. Sometimes, it's good to punch yourself in the arm, just to remember that it's still there. Even if you can only say HI.

DO IT.

Thank you, Nasty...

Anti Has The Coolest Link To Me On His Site...

So, I should be writing a report right now, but instead I'll tell you about the Mexican / Techno bar during that art show on Saturday. My girlfriend is one of those poopers that doesn't go for days, but then, when she needs to go - she needs to go. I accompanied her to the bathroom in the back of the art gallery, talked to, the owner, I think that's who he was, and found out they were out of toilet paper. I think that I ended up getting distracted by somebody and then I see my girlfriend again, she said that there was a bar down the street, but she had to buy a drink to use the bathroom, so she got me. Everybody knows I'm good for a few dozen...at least.

This place was a thug-fest. They had tons of security there who checked out ID's and told us where the line started even though there was nobody there. Serious. There were more employees and security outside than customers inside. The only customers inside the noisy place were a couple of Cholas holding hands and running somewhere. My girlfriend practically ran too, but to the bathroom. So, I ordered a beer from a very nice girl. She seemed out of place. I tipped her a couple of bucks and she acted like I gave her a couple hundred. I shouldn't of tipped her and just given her my cell phone number and told her that I was DJ'ing a quincieneda on the weekend, would she like to come? I didn't have a place to sit. I was the only guy in the main loud room. The security force was outside. Louder music was coming from the side room that my girlfriend ran off to. I wanted to be close to the bathroom just in case she needed my help anyway. The music was so loud that I could feel it up my nose. There wasn't anybody in this room except for two guys trying to fix an overhanging light. I tried to lean against a wall and look tough or interested. I felt like a narc or an FBI agent. I went outside to the patio with the security force. My gal finally came back and told me that there were shower curtains in the girl’s bathroom instead of doors?

Anyway she felt better and then I had to finish my beer. We were feeling out of place and making jokes to ourselves and wondering who the hell actually went there. Where were all the people? Of course that’s when more friends started to arrive for the art show. I could tell they were kind of surprised; it must of looked kind of weird. I'm in an art show down the street and I'm hanging outside of the Mexican / Techno bar on the patio with The Mexican Mafia. I wanted to tell them what the hell I was doing there, but my girlfriend would've been embarrassed. They had drinks at the art show, so there wasn't any reason why I'd be down the street. After that a couple of friends that I haven't seen in a while saw me at the scary bar too. Same thing. We finally came back. I drank more. That's about it. I want to call the Mexican /Techno bar right now and ask them if they have music, and ask them if they can accommodate a party of two hundred.

Lick It. Goodbye.